Marry Me, You Mongrel!
by SoSaysL
Summary: Gilgamesh discovers that the priceless, all-powerful, wish-granting Holy Grail might be good for something after all. Namely, his wedding plans. [Twelve Shots of Summer]


A/n: Did someone say 'Contrived Romance?' Because last time I checked, I could see Gil blatantly pulling out all the stops to contrive a romance with Saber, one-sided as such an occurrence might be. It's fantastic fun to write these two and the way their personalities clash. Here, Gilgamesh is chattier, and Saber has a bit more stamina to withstand the attacks than in the original, but otherwise they're relatively in character...or so I hope. This tidbit was written for the 'Twelve Shots of Summer' challenge, and I think I managed to get both the regular and alternate prompts...after all, Gil couldn't get a ring, so hurling weapons will have to do. Set at the end of Fate/Zero.

Summary: _Gilgamesh discovers that the priceless, all-powerful Holy Grail might be good for something after all. Namely, his wedding plans. [Twelve Shots of Summer]_

Also, please do not take this too seriously.

* * *

**Marry Me, You Mongrel!**

Saber has fought for the Holy Grail. It is hers, and no one else's.

And that is why she can't believe that this pompous idiot is standing before her, attempting to distract her with these pointless jibes. Not to mention that he is ignoring the priceless relic that is, quite frankly, the reason for this entire war.

She grits her teeth and yanks his sword from her knee, paying no heed to Gilgamesh's blathering as she forces herself to rise above the blinding pain in her leg. The previous battle had been emotionally and physically draining - she felt her inadequacy as a king more strongly than ever, and anguish sank into her stomach and clawed at her chest - and in a single moment of unpreparedness she had suffered injury. But it would not happen again. If she treats those countless blades summoned by the Gate of Babylon as opponents ready to strike, perhaps she can adjust her defensive timing and counter the next volley.

"I demand an answer," Gilgamesh says evenly, a note of danger hovering in his voice. He is standing before the wall of blades, resplendent and magnetic. "If you do not speak, I shall take your silence as acquiescence."

Saber blinks, her focus snapping away from formulating battle tactics and the countless weapons materializing around Gilgamesh. She reads genuine frustration in his face and realizes that she had been thoughtless. Even if he is a conceited bastard, she owes him at least the courtesy of polite conversation.

"I apologize," she says tersely. "I have just emerged from a lengthy battle and found my mind wandering. Please repeat what you have said, and I will listen closely."

Gilgamesh's crimson eyes narrow. "Really? You have heard nothing I have just said? You mad, depraved dog think yourself capable of ignoring the King of Heroes?"

"Forgive me," Saber says tightly, suppressing the urge to utter a sharp retort. "It is difficult to concentrate on your words when a wall of swords is staring at me from behind your back." _And after you sunk a sword in my knee on a whim, it's not as if I'm going to __listen to you._

Gilgamesh chuckles, but he doesn't sound particularly amused. "I suppose I'll have repeat my speech, then."

"Kindly do," Saber says, impatient for the battle to begin. Her main objective is to get to the Grail, while _his _main objective...well, he doesn't really seem to have one besides idle chatter. She warily eyes the menacing weapons, all of them aimed at her.

"Let's phrase this simply," Gilgamesh drawls, his face lit in gold and contoured in shadows, "so a lower-level mongrel like _you_ can understand." He pauses, and then his voice soars into a grandiose boom. "Saber, your ideals have led you to ruin. You need not chase such futile dreams any longer. Instead, serve _me!_ Lay down your sword and become my wife!"

Saber merely stares. He had lost her at "serve me." She is the King of Knights, Arturia Pendragon, and he wishes her to subordinate herself to an arrogant prick like him? She could not come up with a more ridiculous idea had she tried._  
_

"Wait," she says, the sheer silliness of it dawning on her. "I'm here for the final battle, and here you are for a wedding ceremony? And you're the only one who thinks there's going to be a wedding?" Even as she speaks, mirth bubbles in her throat.

"I'm glad you comprehend the situation," Gilgamesh returns, raising an eyebrow. Saber can't decide if he is oblivious or sarcastic. "Now, then. I would advise you answer before I lose my patience."

"_I_ would advise you do not insult my dignity as the King of Knights any longer," Saber warns, swallowing her laughter. So much for 'civil conversation.' "Let us turn to the battle at hand."

"You want a battle?" Gilgamesh regards her with disdain, his demon-red eyes piercing. "None of you heroes are a match for me, for I am your King! I can vanquish countless enemies with a mere flick of my hand. Resistance means destruction, and you would be prudent to remember what I am capable of."

"Your proclamations tire me. You are met with a stark refusal," Saber says through her teeth, and is promptly rewarded with a trio of axes whistling through the air at her. She manages to deflect the first two with Excalibur, but the third lodges in her shoulder. She involuntarily lets out a yelp as white-hot pain sears into her body.

"The courage of a lion, as usual," Gilgamesh drawls. "Most opponents are instantly beheaded."

Saber grimaces. She is no ordinary opponent, but neither is he.

"Am I not brilliant?" Gilgamesh asks, but it is not a question. He folds his arms proudly. "Other proposals involve silly trifles like rings and chocolates and flowers," he continues, sounding very self-satisfied. "But this method is more effective, wouldn't you agree?"

"Instead you throw axes and swords at me," Saber spits, wiping blood away from her mouth. "And then you call me a mad, depraved dog. Nothing could _possibly_ go wrong."

"Nothing _will_ go wrong because I decree it so, and my word is law!" Gilgamesh declares. Another volley of weapons rushes at her from the Gate of Babylon. Saber manages to dodge and deflect as many attacks as she can, but she finds that her already-wounded leg has been pierced with another broadsword and she sits abruptly in a heap on the ground. Her head spinning from blood loss, she gathers the strength to yank the broadsword out of her thigh.

Saber senses the presence of Kiritsugu a second before Gilgamesh does, but it is still too late. Two curved blades escape from the Gate of Babylon and strike a curved path through the air towards her Master, and Saber's warning yell hangs in the air, ineffective.

"You didn't kill him-" she says, tasting the metallic tang of blood and hating the feeling of helplessness. Her duty had been to protect her master, but tired as she was, she couldn't possibly have saved him from those potentially lethal blows. "You didn't-"

"He'll live," Gilgamesh shrugs, his golden armor clinking. "Perhaps. Likely in a vegetative state. Anyway, I could tell he was up to no good. That scurvy mongrel was about to interrupt my wedding ceremony. It's not as if the living standards of such plebeians concern me."

Rage and sorrow build in Saber as she clambers to her feet. Far behind Gilgamesh and away from Saber, Kiritsugu lies inert in his own blood. She had never been fond of Kiritsugu and his pragmatic utilitarianism, but she is honor-bound to him. It is settled now. She _must_ obtain the Grail, for Kiritsugu's sake and her own. If he's still alive, she might be able to win the war for him. "Before you send your blades flying at my face in an ill-timed attempt to be romantic," she says with contempt, "Listen. There's a reason why I need the Holy Grail."

"That's what you _think_," Gilgamesh returns mockingly. "How exquisite you are in your endless misery. In reality, the only thing you need is _me_. Give me your answer again, won't you? We can repeat this game as many times as you'd like."

"There's one thing I'd like to know," Saber cries in frustration, her armored grip tightening on Excalibur's hilt. "For some inexplicable reason, you don't seem to need the Grail, which was the object of the Holy Grail Wars. It's right behind you, and you're not aware of it. But I have sacrificed everything for it - I _desperately_ need the Holy Grail, to right my wrongs and bring peace to my nation!"

In a flash of light, two swords swing from the Gate of Babylon directly at her forehead. She barely deflects them, the effort knocking her off balance.

Gilgamesh's gaze slides to the Grail behind him, and then back to Saber. "All treasures in the earth belong to me, and I will do with them as I please," he proclaims. "Technically, I already own the Grail. I have no need of it. And you, in all your delusional glory and lost to your dreams of justice, are mine alone."

"I wouldn't have thought you the type to confuse people and objects," Saber fires back, already advancing towards the Grail. Gilgamesh sees her intention, and sends a glistening barrage of golden weapons to propel her path backwards and leave two deep wounds - one dagger in her upper arm, and a scimitar in the side of her stomach. She has crumpled, one hand clutching Excalibur and the other pressed to her abdomen to staunch the bleeding.

"You have proven yourself incredibly stubborn," Gilgamesh announces, looking over his nose at her as Saber glares at him through her bloodstained bangs. "And this will be a huge concession on my part." He pauses dramatically. "I am Gilgamesh, the mighty King of Heroes. My authority is invincible, my reign unending, my control absolute. What if..." The words are clearly on the tip of his tongue, but giving him some hesitation, "what if I allow you to call me Gil?"

"Cute nicknames do not concern me," Saber replies coldly, hardening herself to the stinging of her wounds. In her concentration on pulling herself upright, she fails to see the way his face falls as if horribly disappointed.

"Well, that usually does the trick..." Gilgamesh mutters.

"Besides, you seem to see me as a possession," Saber says. "That is not the basis for a working relationship."

"Oh, you want a working relationship?" Gilgamesh repeats. "I couldn't conceive of a better pairing. You are a tragic king who cannot stop wallowing in your foolish guilt, for you are the righteous embodiment of flawed ideals. And I am the only one allowed to love you in your ruin and the only one who can rescue from your despair, for I am the most powerful ruler in all existence, a-"

"-a massive ball of ego who fails to comprehend his own narcissism," Saber continues. "Yes. And in what universe do you consider this a match made in heaven?"

"-You're trapped by your own ideals," Gilgamesh snaps, "and they will destroy you and everything you stand for. If you just allow yourself to taste my philosophy of what it means to be king, I promise you'll never go back. Instead of trying to save these low-life mongrels, why not let them entertain you?"

"I fail to comprehend your nonexistent logic."

"You are defying me just to be willful! I am doing _everything _I can to make this ship sail!"

"I do not care to hear about your newfound interest in shipbuilding," Saber says flatly.

"So intractable. I could always just keep throwing weapons at you," Gilgamesh ponders aloud. "That's an idea. Perhaps, if you're lucky, you won't end up mutilated. You're one of the few worthy opponents I've faced who do not crumble instantly beneath my might, and certainly one of the most _entertaining_." But then he looks at the Grail again. "Or," he exclaims, a dark glint igniting in his eyes, "I suppose I could always make a wish."

"So you're going to use this world-class, all-powerful wish-granting object for a contrived romance with someone who hates you?" Saber demands in disbelief.

He nods smugly, altogether much too pleased with himself.

"What frivolous nonsense. It would never work," Saber says forcefully. "You are not a Master, you are merely a Servant! You will be vaporized on contact. The Grail would not grant your wish."

Gilgamesh smirks, his mammoth self-pride suffocating all doubt. "I am not _a _Master. I am _the_ Master. I own the Holy Grail. I don't follow the rules, I _make _them. Of course it will bend to my will."_  
_

His back is turned to her as he walks towards the Grail, but the Gate of Babylon remains in place, as if to threaten her not to come further. Saber weighs her options.

If she advances towards the Grail, he will cut her down with a slew of arrows and swords until she physically crumbles. No matter how much pain she endures, Saber knows that her resolve will not crack, and so such an endeavor is akin to suicide. She is a fiercely independent king serving her country, not the hedonistic folly of another ruler. Love and marriage are frivolities that have never mattered to her in the slightest, and she is taken aback that _this_ is the only use he can think up for the lost relic.

If she allows him to obtain the Holy Grail and he actually manages to make it obey his wish, she might be as good as stuck with that pompous fool for the rest of time. She knows not how the Grail grants wishes, but she can foresee several possibilities - when he says, _Make Saber mine_ - what if, in a flare of irony, she turns into an actual possession, an object? Or, she thinks with a chuckle, what if in his treasury Gilgamesh finds, much to his embarrassment and rage, 500 new lightsabers?

If she uses her Noble Phantasm to attack with Excalibur while Gilgamesh is occupied with the Grail, then he, along with everything in her path, will be instantly vaporized. Yet, the Grail, her long-sought prize, would also be destroyed. If she failed to obtain the Grail, she would return to wallow in her despair atop that forsaken battlefield, littered with the slain bodies of her men and swathed in crimson-grey light, until she could compete once more for that priceless relic.

Saber readies herself. The choice is clear.

Winds begin to swirl around Excalibur, ruffling Saber's royal blue skirts and blonde hair.

"Hm," Gilgamesh says condescendingly. His reach is a centimeter away from the Grail, an ornate, beautifully wrought golden chalice that hovers in the air. "I see you think it's a good idea to unleash your Excaliblast." He grins, obviously satisfied with his own cleverness. "I'll refrain from skewering you for your impudence because, you see, I find this setup particularly intriguing. I, for one, am willing to wager that you've gravely underestimated the power of the Grail. Well then, King of Knights. Let's see which happens first: will you incinerate me? Or will I own you? What an _entertaining_ gamble! I haven't had this much fun in centuries."

And right as his hands close on the Holy Grail, Saber's war cry echoes through the air and a blinding white light barrels towards him with incredible ferocity and speed.

Saber can only hope that half-second wasn't enough, while Gilgamesh stares straight into the blast, smiling.

_Fin_


End file.
